


Mirror Mirror

by Tyranno



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Shape-Shifter!Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 16:52:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11017560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyranno/pseuds/Tyranno
Summary: When Peter touches a member of another species, he changes shape to match them--it's something he inherited from his father. But what he didn't inherit was the ability to change back.





	Mirror Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Very unbeta'd, sorry :P hope you enjoy

The little Terran landed on the ship in a flurry of clothes and limbs. The child howled, saying something too muffled for Yondu to make out.

Yondu snatched him by the back of his neck, and as soon as his fingers brushed the boy’s neck—he changed. Blue rolled over the child’s skin like a tide, shifting his features and stealing his breath away. The child froze, breathing heavily.

Yondu was nose-to-nose with a familiar, ruby-red crest that nearly took his eye out. Yondu let him go and the child spun around, big black eyes wet with tears.

“The hell…?” Kraglin muttered, peering over Yondu’s shoulder, “Thought the guy said he was a Terran?”

The child looked down at his hands in shock and fear. When he ran his hand over his head he bumped into the tall crest that rose dead-centre from his cranium. He prodded it carefully.

Yondu shook his head. That was a Centaurian if he’d ever seen one. “Guess he got his facts mixed up,” Yondu said.

“Maybe it was some kind of image shifter?” Kraglin said, “It must’ve got disrupted when we left the atmosphere.”

“Maybe,” Yondu frowned.

The child tried to tug on his crest and was reward by a stinging pain through his skull. Yondu pushed a translator into his ear.

The child’s big eyes brimmed, and Yondu saw himself in him. He had the same squishy, hairless brows and chubby cheeks that Yondu remembered from a visit to his native planet many years ago. Not for the first time, Yondu wondered what it would have been like to grow up there, with other kids who looked just like him. The sudden swell of loss caught Yondu off guard, and he straightened up quickly.

“I’m Yondu, the captain,” Yondu said, “What’s your name?”

“Peter,” The kid mumbled.

“This is Kraglin, Peter,” Yondu patted, “He’s technically your immediate superior, being a few years older.”

Peter blinked at him.

“Let’s go, Peter,” Kraglin beckoned.

Kraglin led the little Terran down a crampt hallway and into the small medbay. “On the proper ship there’s a real medbay with medicine and stuff,” Kraglin pulled a few clothes out of the cupboard, “But this ship’s just like a pod, really. It’s got a few painkillers and some antiseptic.”

Kraglin passed Peter some clothes. Peter unfolded them and stared at them, confusion twisting his pudgy features.

“Change,” Kraglin prompted. “No-one will take you seriously in those clothes.”

Peter just stared.

“C’mon,” Kraglin tugged Peter’s shirt up—and when he touched Peter’s skin the blue vanished in a ripple. Hair flopped over Peter’s eyes.

Kraglin stared.

Peter pushed the hair from his eyes, breathing heavily. “I’m not blue anymore,” Peter yelped, “What the hell is happening?”

“Whatever you’ve got it’s a little dodgy. It’s cutting out a lot,” Kraglin rubbed his chin. “but I’ve gotta hand it to you. It’s the best projection I’ve ever seen.”

Peter ran his hands through his thick hair, heart beating wildly. “What the hell are you talking about? Where am I? What—What’s going on?!”

Kraglin frowned. “Your image disrupter?” He asked, “It’s what makes you look Terran even when you ain’t.”

“I’m human!” Peter snapped.

Kraglin huffed a laugh. “You might look like you did on earth but—”

“I don’t!” Peter yelped. He showed Kraglin his arms, “I had freckles! This hair—it’s the wrong colour!” Peter pointed quickly to the back of his head, “I didn’t have—those!”

Kraglin peered around Peter’s head. He pressed his fingers through Peter’s thick hair and felt the back of his skull. Kraglin felt three spines under his fingers, with tiny, brittle barbs. With his other hand, Kraglin felt the identical little spines on his own head, hidden under his mohawk.

“Well I’ll be,” Kraglin chuffed, “you’re Xandarian.”

Peter jerked away from his hand, “I’m not!” Peter scratched widly at the lines under his hair, “It’s not true! I’m human!!”

“Hey,” Kraglin snatched Peter’s arm, “Don’t do that! You’re hurting yourself!”

Peter clawed at his head with his other arm, tears brimming over his eyes. Kraglin grabbed Peter’s other arm and pulled him out of the medbay and into the hallway. “Cap’n!” Kraglin bellowed, keeping Peter’s arms above the child’s head.

Yondu padded out of the kitchen. “He’s different,” Yondu observed, tilting his head.

“Leave me alone,” Peter choked out, “I want to go home!”

“It’s not an image disrupter, Cap’n,” Kraglin said, “Hell, I don’t know what it is.”

Yondu hummed.

“Let me go!” Peter begged.

“Let him go,” Yondu said.

Kraglin hesitated, and dropped Peter’s arms.

Peter rubbed his forearm, tears shining on his cheeks.

Yondu tapped him in the forehead and Peter flinched. Blue rolled over Peter’s features and his hair vanished, a bright, proud crest pushing out of his skull.

“That’s nuts,” Kraglin said.

“Draa’m, come here,” Yondu ordered.

Draa’m stepped out of the control room. Draa’m was a Badoon, ugly as all of hell, with long, bent arms and froglike face. His skin was oily and rough, and had webbed hands and feet. He lumbered towards them, and stood, knuckles brushing the floor, and waited.

“Do me a favour,” Yondu said, “Touch Peter here.”

“Don’t,” Peter said, but stood, rooted to the spot, as Draa’m massive finger touched his shoulder. The moment it made contact, green scales rippled over the flawless blue, and he changed shape, arms and legs stretching, face wrinkling. Peter kicked off his shoes as his feet expanded and his spine bent.

He screamed.

Kraglin caught Peter’s shoulder and he shrunk back to his normal shape, breathing hard. Peter started to sob. “Uh, Cap’n,” Kraglin said.

“Yeah,” Yondu said, “We’ll experiment some other time. Put him in bed.”

Kraglin nodded, relieved, and wheeled an inconsolable Peter towards the guest bedroom.

Yondu watched him go, marvelling. What a crazy kind of kid he was.

 

*

 

When the crew found out, they wouldn’t leave Peter alone, prodding him and tugging him around, marvelling at the ripples of fur, scales, and skin that often didn’t have a chance to finish transforming him before another crewmember caught him. The waves crashed together, separated by a thin white light, reshuffling his tired features.

Peter tried to push them away, but they were too solid and tall, he tried to escape but one of them just grabbed his arm and yanked him back. “Leave me—!” Peter snapped, but someone snatched the tentacles that wriggled in the back of his neck, turning them to spines under their hands. “Let go!” Peter kicked him away.

“Let me try something,” Brahl said, taking Peter by the wrist and dragging him out of the crowd. He pulled the translator from Peter’s ear. “ _You understand me, twerp?_ ” Brahl asked in his mother tongue.

“ _Fuck off! I'm not a twerp_!" Peter howled in the same language, beating his hand away. He snatched the translator from Brahl’s hands.

Brahl stared. “You can understand me?”

“Just leave me alone!” Peter howled, but another crewmember grabbed his outstretched arm, and short, wiry fur rolled across Peter’s skin like black fire.

On the balcony above the mess hall, Kraglin’s face was darkening. He pushed away from the railings.

“Don’t,” Yondu rumbled.

“What the fuck? They’re hurting ’im!” Kraglin snapped, and then looked away, “...Cap’n.”

“I know my crew,” Yondu said, “They’re not evil, but they can be cruel. If you break it up now, they’ll just do it later. It won’t be forever.”

Kraglin grumbled, settling back on the railing, eyes dark. Peter’s shouts and cries cut through the mess hall air.

“Its good for them to experiment,” Ovan said from Kraglin’s other side, third eye glittering as he watched Peter be tugged around by one of the larger crew members. “The extent of the boy’s powers are interesting.”

Yondu frowned.

“It’ll be especially useful later in life,” Ovan said, almost dreamily. “When he’s… matured.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Kraglin growled.

“He matches the species of any creature he touches,” Ovan said, waving an arm. “Surely you can see the obvious benefit of that.”

Kraglin stared at him.

“You’re still not following?” Ovan said, exasperated, “I’m talking about prostitution.”

“Go back to fucking dead goats, Ovan,” Yondu snapped, slamming his fist on the railing.

Ovan huffed, and gave a little bow, “Of course, captain.”

Yondu watched him go, burning holes into the back of Ovan’s head. He made a mental note to maroon the bastard the first chance he got.

 

*

 

“Kid?” Yondu stepped into the dark guest bedroom, box on his hip. It took a moment to spot the little mass huddled under the sheets, shivering.

“Leave me alone,” Peter moaned. A tail curled under him, the big black tuft tucked by his nose. His eyes were shining with tears.

“I’ve got a present,” Yondu said, and pulled clothes of the box he was carrying.

Peter poked his head out his bed. “What is it?”

Yondu unfolded the clothes and held it up to his body. “There’s a shirt, a jacket, jeans, even a retractable helmet. They cover you totally. These gloves are special,” He unwrapped them and showed them to the boy, “There’s a flap over the fingers… you won’t touch anyone unless you want to.”

Peter stretched out a hand, taking a moment to remember how to retract his new claws, and took the clothes from Yondu.

Yondu straightened up and headed to the door. He heard the whispered Thank You, and although he didn’t stop to acknowledge it, he smiled to himself.

 

*

 

If, in the next few years, Kraglin felt the occasional quick brush of changing fingers on any exposed skin followed by the sound of running feet, he didn’t make a big deal of it.

 

*

 

It was right after Gamora punched him in the face that she noticed something very strange.

He turned green.

Green, like her. The exact same shade.

The man took her hesitation and smacked her, and her instincts kicked him, kicking him across the nose. She saw him go for his gun and rolled up, slamming his hand down with her foot. For a moment, she had a perfect, clear view of his face. He had the same high, dusty green cheek bones, the same dark, emerald lips, the same red-flecked black hair. And those soft, deep black eyes… it had been so long since she’d seen them outside of a mirror.

Then she was tackled by a raccoon and things got rather out of hand.

 

*

 

Gamora didn’t get to talk to him immediately. Kyln seperated the man from the rest of the prisoners and gave him a shield-projecting collar and anklets, the kind she’d only seen them do for prisoners with contagious diseases, or ones that corrosive oils.

Even when he intervened with Drax, or when the four of them were forming plans, or even when they were standing in the control room with alarms blaring so loud it felt like a physical pressure on her skull—she couldn’t find words to say. She didn’t quite believe it.

It was only when they were on his ship, and Rocket was disarming Peter’s collar.

“Be careful not to touch me,” Peter was saying.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rocket huffed, “I know all about you, Quill.”

“How did you do it?” Gamora asked.

“Do what?” Peter asked, rubbing his neck.

“Escape Zen-Whoberi,” Gamora prompted, “Even if you were off world at the time, Thanos searched the galaxy and killed every Zehoberei he could—”

“I’m sorry,” Peter cringed. “I’m not… Zehoberei.”

“What?” Gamora asked.

“I’m...” Peter ran a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t know what I am. It’s probably better if I just show you.”

Peter reached out a hand and touched Groot’s leg. His skin was quickly replaced by wood, and his eyes became large and dark. The familiar black hair vanished completely.

Then he leaned in the other direction and pressed a hand to Drax’s shoulder and Peter’s skin smoothed and paled in reflection. His shoulders grew wider and his shirt rode up.

“You’re…” Gamora blinked.

“I’m like a chameleon,” Peter said.

“What’s a chameleon?” Rocket asked.

“It’s… never mind,” Peter shrugged. “I didn’t mean to trick you or anything. It just happens.”

“It is a useful skill,” Drax said.

“I guess,” Peter said, and shook his grey head. “I just wish I knew what I really looked like. I hate feeling like an imitation.”

Gamora held his hand, and watched him turn green, “You aren’t an ugly imitation.”

Peter blinked, and laughed, “Thanks, I guess.”

“Do me,” Rocket asked.

Peter shrugged and touched him. Pain lanced through his fingers and he jerked back. It felt like his bones were on fire. “What the hell was that,” He hissed, “you electrocuted me?”

“No!” Rocket snapped.

Peter’s skin rippled with fur and snapped back to a hairless. He stared at pale pink, freckled skin. “Wait,” he whispered, turning his hand over, inspecting his nails. He dived into a box, unearthing an old, dusty mirror. He rubbed it with his jacket elbow and peered into it.

Peter turned his head, running a thumb over his stubble. He felt the back of his skull, and felt nothing but warm skin and hair. No ridges.

“I’m human again,” Peter lowered the mirror, staring at Rocket.

Rocket scratched the back of his neck, “Yeah, well, I wondered if all the stuff they added to my DNA might throw it for a loop.”

Peter stared. And then he smiled, real wide. “Thank you,” He said.

Rocket shrugged, “Whatever. Let’s get this piece of junk moving already. Kyln will catch up to us at this rate.”

 

 

THE END


End file.
